Understanding
by Mary B. Wolf
Summary: "The last thing Spike expected to see in her face when he opened his eyes was understanding, and yet there it was, buried under layers of horror and revulsion." Spike and Willow share a moment. Sort of.


This is my first Buffy fic. Spike has a God complex, Willow understands, and Giles ignores what he sees.

Also, Firefly reference in one of Willow's lines. Find it and I'll give you a cookie. Comments and concrit appreciated, as ever.

* * *

It was Red's turn to watch him, although what those Scooby gang idiots thought she could do against him if—

Well, now that he thought about it, she could do rather a lot, now that he'd lost his bite.

"Damn Initiative," Spike muttered.

"What was that?" Willow asked faintly. She didn't even look up, since at the moment she had her nose buried in some ancient, cracked-leather-bound tome of Giles' that he thought he'd kept hidden from her.

There was something strangely appealing in watching her absorb knowledge like this, Spike decided as he leaned against the doorjamb. She was relaxed and at ease, sitting in a sunny patch of the courtyard. A crossbow and a crucifix sat next to her, not that she'd need either of them against him. He was harmless as a bunny rabbit. Sunlight struck her hair, ringing her face with a fiery red halo. It suited her.

But Spike ignored her question and grumbled to himself, "Taking away my power and giving me these bloody fuzzy thoughts." She should be cowering in terror and begging for mercy. _He_ shouldn't be entertaining these soft ideas about how Willow looked. He wondered how she would taste, if he were to bite her right now…

"Need something, Spike?" she called, finally glancing away from her book.

"Yeh," he grunted. "'M hungry."

A distasteful look passed over Red's face, but she said, "There's blood in the fridge and the microwave hasn't moved."

At least whatever they'd done to him hadn't taken away his ability to lie. "All the mugs are dirty."

"Then wash one," she told him sternly, turning her attention away from him and back to the book.

"Do I look like a bloody Merry Maid to you?" he demanded, feigning annoyance.

"No," Willow said, giving him a glance she probably thought he'd miss. It made him feel slightly violated—a bit of a shock coming from shy, repressed little Red, but no less welcome. "You look like the vampire who's bloodied all of them up. And—and since you're the one dirtying them, you should be the one cleaning them up."

"It isn't the same," Spike said bitterly, looking away.

"Washing mugs isn't the same?" Red asked, puzzled.

"Pre-packaged food," he said. He retreated into the house, wanting to end the conversation. Of all the people he _didn't_ want to discuss his weakness with, Scooby Red was high on the list. Unfortunately, all the people on that list were the ones he'd had to turn to for help. The thought burned.

Naturally, she followed. Red wasn't one to let these things go. She was tenacious, he'd give her that much. And she was rather good at stroking the ego, he remembered, even when she was terrified out of her wits.

"It keeps you alive, doesn't it?" she asked. "W-well, undead, I mean. Walking around, anyway."

"Yeh," he said, chuckling cynically. "But imagine surviving for eternity on those disgusting microwave meals humans have these days. Unless I can undo whatever it is they've done to me, that's what I'm facing. Animal blood is never the same as human blood. Reheated is never as good as fresh. It's about the hunt. Chasing down your prey in the night—" He broke off, inhaling deeply and letting the demon show through his face. He reveled in the memory, eyes closed.

In his demon state, he could hear and smell everything. Red's heart was pounding, adrenalin coursing through her—and disgust. Her breathing was quickened. It was almost perfect. All that was missing was the heady feeling of power and the abject terror of the prey at the prospect of their life ending, all the blood being drained from their body while there was nothing they could do but beg.

"I was a god," he growled. "I held the power of life and death in my hands. It was glorious."

The last thing Spike expected to see in her face when he opened his eyes was understanding, and yet there it was, buried under layers of horror and revulsion.

"And they took it away," she whispered.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Spike laughed caustically. "No you're not, Red," he said. "You're glad I can't hurt people anymore. You're happy to see me emasculated and powerless."

"I'm extremely glad you can't hurt people," Willow agreed swiftly, nodding. "But I _am_ sorry th-that you can't be free anymore. No one should have to live without joy, ya know?" Her big green eyes were wide and terrifyingly earnest. She walked around the table and into the kitchen and before he could think about stopping her, she'd plucked a paring knife from the butcher block.

Spike watched bemusedly as she came back into the living area. He wondered what she thought she was going to accomplish with a little metal knife like that against him.

Again, he realised sourly, she could probably do a lot. Fortunately for him—

"I rather like being cut on, Red," he purred. "Makes for a bloody good time in the sack."

She shot him a nasty look and said, "It's not for you. It's for me. I know it won't be the same, but you won't be hurting me if I-I—"

"Kill yourself for me?" he asked quickly. "No."

"How thoughtful," Red retorted. "Trying to stop me."

"Thinking purely of myself, love," Spike answered sweetly. "Your sodding friends come home and find one dead you and one alive me and I'll turn into kitty litter. Not an idea I fancy, you understand. So go put the toy away unless you're planning on turning dominatrix." He leered at her. "Which I'm not entirely opposed to. Been a while since…" He ignored her scandalised look.

"You're disgusting," she snapped. "I _was_ going to make a shallow cut somewhere and let you drink, but if you're just going to be a dirty pervert, I won't." Red started for the kitchen.

She was right. His brain wouldn't explode in pain if she sliced on herself. Fresh, free blood. Warm, _human_ blood. It wouldn't be the same as a hunt, but it was better than microwaved pig blood. Just the thought of it made his mouth water—or it would have, if his salivary glands weren't dead.

"Wait!" he shouted. "I'm sorry. Go ahead. Cut on yourself."

She shot a glare at him, examining him closely as if looking for trickery. He thought it was a bit rich, considering she was the one who'd offered in the first place, but eventually she lifted her arms.

"No killing me," she warned. "You kill me and I'll kill you right back."

"Still not fancying the kitty litter scenario, Red," he said drolly. "Can you get on with it? I'm starved."

Willow yanked one sleeve up above her elbow and set the tip of the paring knife against the soft skin of the crook of her arm. Spike watched eagerly but impatience began to mount as she hesitated.

"Hurry up, will you?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," she said with biting sarcasm. "It's not like I do this on a regular basis. I have to gather a little courage."

He sighed irritably and said, "Gather away." He looked off to the side. A moment later, he heard a small whimper and even in his human face, he could smell the rich tang of human blood lacing the air.

"Come on," Red ordered, holding out her arm. He accepted her wrist, nuzzling his nose against it for no other reason than to make her uncomfortable. He allowed his lips to brush her forearm as he drew closer to the cut and felt her shiver lightly.

Then the blood was directly under his mouth, smearing on his lips where it had welled. The demon emerged. He latched onto it. Sweet and hot, the blood flowed in a thin, steady stream onto his tongue.

Spike could taste everything.

Adrenalin, fear, confusion, excitement… arousal.

_Huh._

"Never would have figured you for the type to get hot about this, Red," he murmured against her skin.

"Wh-what?" she stammered. "I'm not—not _hot—"_

Spike sucked lightly on the wound and teasingly swirled his tongue against the soft skin around it. He could smell it now, faintly, and the flavor of it soared higher in her blood.

"You are," he murmured throatily. "I can taste it. I can taste _you."_

She tasted embarrassed now. Everything else faded, leaving only unpleasant humiliation behind and even though he'd only had what would amount to a quarter cup, he had to stop. He'd never liked his food to taste discomfited. Panicked, horrified, furious—those he could enjoy without issue. He could even handle happy or shy or depressed, but an embarrassed victim was just too much. It soured the whole mood.

He almost wished he hadn't said anything and continued to enjoy the pleasant thrum of her wild hormones and the urges they were stirring in him.

That little taste of Red wasn't nearly enough. He'd been too long without the utter intoxication of human blood. He wanted to _bite _and _savage _and feel the blood _gush _in hot, wet rivers into his mouth—

"You're a tease," he told her instead, wiping his mouth and returning his face to human. "A dirty little tease."

"I held up my end," Red said smartly. "It's not my fault you quit. It's yours and that—that dirty mouth of yours."

"You have no idea how dirty my mouth can get," Spike said darkly, her lust still swirling around inside him. He was less than a second away from bruising her mouth with a kiss and showing her when a shadow fell across the still-open front door.

"Willow, anyone could get in," Giles admonished. "Close the door when you come inside. And please don't leave priceless books full of invaluable information outside where the elements can damage them," he added sternly, holding the book she'd been reading in one hand. He seemed to be ignoring the title of the book for the time being.

"Sorry, Giles," she murmured, discreetly rolling down her sleeve.

"Right, well," he sighed. "Come help me carry in the groceries, then."

Red followed him out and Spike faded into the hallway, unnoticed and forgotten.


End file.
